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juloved · 6 months ago

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𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Summary: In the hellish trenches of Marley, Eren is haunted by thoughts of Mikasa. Unable to resist, he finds himself touching himself as he stares at the mirage of her created by his mind.

Word Count: 1797

Read under cut.

Dear @juloved Happy Birthday, July! 🎉 I just want to take a moment to tell you how much your friendship means to me. You’ve been such an incredible source of support, always there to encourage and inspire me, no matter what. Your artistic vision is something truly special, and I’ve learned so much from you—not just about creativity, but about how to be a better friend and person. You bring so much light into the lives of everyone around you, and I’m so grateful to have you in mine. I hope this day is filled with all the love, joy, and magic you deserve. Cheers to many more years of friendship, growth, and beautiful moments together. 💖 Also, I wrote something small for you, and I really hope you like it. It’s just a little piece, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about, and I wanted to share it with you (since you kind of encouraged this at some point haha). 😊 Ro.

This trench was a wretched place. Cold mud clung to his boots, weighing them down with every step, while the bitter, metallic tang of blood mingled with the acrid stench of gunpowder, lingering in the air like a constant reminder of death. Eren’s fingers dug into the wet earth, gripping the damp soil as though it might anchor him, but even the ground seemed to betray him. His body felt like stone—heavy, immobile, and numb from exhaustion. The battle raged in the distance; the occasional rumble of artillery and the sharp crack of gunfire barely pierced the suffocating fog of silence around him.

In this moment, in this graveyard of lives, it was the oppressive quiet that consumed him. The chaos of the world outside—the war, the carnage—blurred into distant echoes, insignificant against the suffocating weight of his thoughts. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the rough stone wall of the trench. The jagged edges scraped his skin, but he barely felt it. Pain had long since become meaningless. Over the years, he had learned to block out the shrieking thrum of war, to numb himself to the horror gnawing at his sanity. Survival had demanded it.

But tonight, his mind refused to be silenced.

Tonight, all he could see was her.

Mikasa.

Her face and her voice haunted him like a phantom he couldn’t escape. “What am I to you, Mikasa?” he had asked once, his voice a ragged whisper of vulnerability he would never admit to anyone, not even himself. It was a question that had gnawed at him, clawed at his soul, but one he had always feared hearing the answer to.

When she had said “family,” his world shattered. He could still feel the weight of that word, heavy and sharp, like a jagged splinter lodged deep within his chest. Family. That was all he could ever be to her. She hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t seen the longing in his eyes or the silent plea written in his every breath.

Family. It was the cruelest truth she could have given him. A truth that sliced through him with such brutality he wondered if he could ever recover. His breath had caught in his throat, his chest tightening, but the words he needed—the ones that might have changed everything—died on his tongue. The realization hit him like a blow: he would never be more to her than what she had already named him.

The next day, he had walked away. He left her behind, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. The finality of it—the certainty that nothing would ever be the same—settled over him like a thick, suffocating fog. He had chosen this path, convinced it was for the best.

But now, in the cold silence of the trench, he knew better.

He would never be her love. He would never be the one to hold her, to stand beside her. He had let her go, and now he was paying the price.

The memories wouldn’t let him go. Mikasa’s smile, soft and warm, still lit up the darkest corners of his mind. He could see the way she had looked at him with quiet intensity, as though she could see straight through him, holding him together when everything else in his world was falling apart.

He had let her slip away. He had taken for granted the one thing he now found himself aching for. Now, all that remained were the fragments of a truth he could never speak aloud.

She would move on. She would live her life, build a future, without him.

And he? He would be bound to this war, to the mission he had chosen. When it was all over—when the dust settled and the world moved on—he would be forgotten.

Mikasa would never be his.

Never.

So, with that true burning in his chest, Eren squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the fatigue, the suffocating weight of the war. But in the darkness, her face appeared once more—vivid and clear, like a cruel temptation he couldn’t resist.

Mikasa.

Her image materialised before him, standing in the midst of the trench, as if she had stepped from his mind. The cold air seemed to wrap around her, but her presence was warm, alluring. She stood just beyond his reach, her dark eyes fixed on him with a quiet intensity that felt like it could pierce through him.

And because he was still a man, despite being a fool, Eren couldn’t deny the effect such a lovely image had on him. It wasn’t just emotional, nor was it spiritual—it went deeper, stirring something raw and undeniable within him. It was physical, primal, a pull that tightened his chest and set his blood alight. Something carnal that only a man in love and painfully doomed like him could feel.

The bulge in his pants grew with every passing moment as his appreciation for Mikasa deepened, and suddenly, the need for her became unbearable—so overwhelming it consumed his every thought. The grime and sweat that clung to his body only seemed to heighten his craving for human connection, for the touch of someone who could momentarily alleviate the crushing solitude of his existence in this unrelenting war.

His hands trembled as they reached for the front of his trousers. He cursed under his breath, but there was no stopping it—not now. He needed this. He needed to feel something, and the image of Mikasa his mind conjured was the only thing that could bring him a fleeting sense of completeness. So he imagined her standing before him in the damp trench, naked and exposed, every curve of her athletic form etched in his mind. Her breath quickened as she stood there, the contours of her body becoming all too real in his desperate thoughts.

He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, letting them drop to his ankles. His cock, thick and long, sprang free, standing at attention like a soldier awaiting orders. The tip was a shade darker than the rest, already glistening with precum that formed a delicate strand as he began to stroke himself. He thought of her tight, wet pussy, the way it would clench around him if he ever had the chance to bury himself inside her.

Mikasa, with her sculpted abs and powerful thighs, was the embodiment of everything he desired. He envisioned her leaning over a bed, her ass, firm and round, pressing against his groin as she whispered sweet nothings that sounded like moans of pleasure. Her voice was a symphony that resonated through his body, setting every nerve on fire. He knew that if he ever had the chance to fuck her, it would be an experience that would be etched into his soul. An experience that would be too hard to forget.

Soon his hand moved faster, his strokes becoming more erratic as the tension grew. He could almost feel her hand around his shaft, guiding him in and out of her warm, velvety depths. Her walls would tighten around him, urging him closer to climax, but he knew he couldn’t cum yet. He had to hold out, to savour this moment of stolen pleasure amidst the chaos of war. His breath hitched as he pictured her leaning back, giving him a clear view of her tight, pink asshole, puckered and begging for his touch. It was something he had never seen before, but the thought of it sent his mind reeling.

With his eyes growing cloudy, he pictured bringing his other hand to his mouth and licked his fingers before reaching down to trace circles around her tight little hole. She gasped, and he knew he had found a spot that made her tremble. He pushed his middle finger in slowly, feeling the resistance before she relaxed, allowing him to delve deeper. Her moans grew louder, and he knew she was close, too. He added another finger, scissoring them apart to prepare her for what was to come.

“Mikasa,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Take me in.”

Her body tensed, and she pushed back, taking him to the hilt. He could feel her cunt clench around his fingers, her muscles rippling with pleasure. Her breath was hot against his neck, her teeth grazing his skin.

“Eren,” she moaned, her voice a sweet agony.

At this point, he didn’t know if it was real or just in his mind, but he didn’t care. All he knew was that this was what he needed, what he craved. The feel of her tightening around him, the sound of her gasping his name. He could feel himself getting closer, his balls drawn up tight against his body. But he wouldn’t let go yet. He wanted to feel her come apart first.

He curled his fingers inside her, hitting that magical spot that made her legs tremble. Her breath hitched, and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming out his name. Her ass was like a vice around his finger, squeezing him as she rode the edge of ecstasy.

“I’m going to cum,” she whimpered in his mind, and the words were like a trigger.

With a roar, Eren pulled his hand away and stroked his cock, his cum spurting out in thick ropes. He pumped himself dry, his body shaking with the force of his release. As he came back down, his breath ragged, he realised that the only thing he wanted more than freedom was her.

When it was over, he felt no relief. Only emptiness. He slumped back against the wall, his hands falling limp at his sides. The night around him was still, the distant echoes of gunfire a faint reminder of where he was, of the war that had stolen everything from him.

He stared at the sky, his vision blurred with unshed tears. She would never know. She would never know how much he wanted her, how much he had always wanted her. And now, as he sat in this trench, surrounded by death and despair, he knew he would never have the chance to tell her.

He had chosen this path. He had chosen to leave her behind, to protect her in the only way he knew how. But it had cost him everything. It had cost him her.

The thought was a dagger to his heart, twisting with every beat. He would never see her again, never hear her voice, never hold her hand. She would move on, live a life free of the burden he had become.

And he? He would die here, alone in the dark, clinging to the memory of a love that would never be.

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